By GEORGE LISET, Writing on the Fly

    The dusting to a light covering of snow is now piling up in my driveway. My plans for the day went south pretty quickly. I decided that I could do something constructive so I went up to my office to begin to hoe out and get organized. I don’t mind the organization part, it is the getting rid of stuff which is the difficult part. As my bride likes to say, “It is easier to get rid of other people’s stuff than your own.” Again, she’s right.

    The main reason is sentimentality. I have items from Paragon Amusement Park that remind me of my childhood growing up in Weymouth, Massachusetts. I had a small boat that I would take fishing around the islands in Quincy Bay which are now part of the Boston Harbor Islands National and State Parks. We would sleep out on the islands and at night take the boats to the park and walk around and enjoy the rides all night until the park closed.

    The park is now condos and businesses. The memories are still there, as is the reality that future generations won’t have that untethered freedom that we grew up with. That freedom gave us the confidence to try new and exciting adventures like walking the White Mountains with a fly rod. Give me a Scout knife, some flint and steel and a rain poncho and I can survive anywhere.

    I have a wooden box with a fish on it that I toss small items in for safe keeping. I have old fishing licenses, old metal New Hampshire license covers with pin backs and other miscellaneous fly-fishing paraphernalia. In the box I had my son’s fly that he caught his first trout on pictured below.

 I remember that day quite clearly. I had taken him to Mad Beaver Pond. I gave him some instruction on casting which he picked up rather quickly. I spent five minutes explaining to him that fly fishing was more difficult than drowning worms and that patience was a virtue. I shared with him that I had gone fishing three or four times before I caught a trout. I mentioned that fly fishing was an art and that the process was as important as the result. On his second cast he caught a ten-inch Brookie and gave me a look that said what so hard about this. He has been out fishing me ever since.

     Another consideration when purging your belongings can be “The Hunt.” I am always on the lookout for fly fishing rods, reels and other related items. I enjoy signs. I have collected a number of them over the years which were going to adorn my office, but alas, my office is now a library and depository for all things fly fishing. My two favorite signs are old wooden New Hampshire river signs for local rivers which have a painted picture of the “Old Man.” I haven’t seen any around and they are pretty cool. What is even more cool than the signs is the story behind finding them. The memory.

    My office is filled with books. As a former educator from the Neanderthal days, where books were an integral part of the educational process, I have kept many for research and reference. My office is also a home for bargain books. I can not pass up a first edition book or signed book especially for a great price. Hence, I have a number of copies of some of my favorite books, especially fly-fishing books.

     What I am finding is that there is not a demand for books. I understand. They are heavy and take up a lot of space and you can get most of the titles on-line. To me, there is nothing more enjoyable this time of year than sitting in front of the fire with a good book. If we lose power I’m still good to go, as long as I have my Scout knife and a poncho.

 George Liset of Dover is an award-winning outdoor writer and avid fly fisherman who shares insights of his time on the water exploring New Hampshire streams and rivers as well of those around New England. George is a graduate of Wheaton College, Illinois, and the University of New Hampshire. His column Writing on the Fly has been honored by the New England Press Association and the New Hampshire Press Association.